Thursday, April 15, 2010

Take the Week Off

No, seriously, take the week off. Skulk into the warden’s office, send him an e-mail, slip a note under her door—I don’t care your methods, but when the last car leaves the mine on May 14th, you’re in it, and they won’t see your war-torn corporate soul at the mill for nine glorious days and nights.

Why the sudden compassion for my fellow man? Just heaven on earth. Nirvana. Front-row tickets to a Clapton concert and free lifetime supply of Mt. Carmel India Pale Ale wrapped up into one. Just the greatest week of your entire planetary existence: the practice and qualifications for the most awesomist automobile race in the world, the Indianapolis 500.

Suffice it to say, when it comes to the buildup for this year’s race, I’m a little stoked. And, yes, come Beer:30 Friday the 14th, yours truly will be leaving the scene of the crime faster than M. Conway bolted from his 23rd decimated Dad’s-mobile. That stretch of May days at the Speedway is truly going to be grand.

40-plus entries, a compressed schedule, 15 points for pole, and [Rod Roddy voice] “lots more” all add up to what should be one of the greatest Indy practice/time trial periods in recent history. So I don’t care how you get there, just get there if you can.

“But my job, my family, that little something I’ve got going on the side, what will they do without me?!” Simmer down there, Mr. Responsibility. This isn’t an all or nothing proposition. My actual earplug time, taking in the intoxicating fragrance of ethanol and slow-roasting, cooler-totin’, Keystone-swillin’, over-inked Hoosier will be limited, as well (don’t kid yourselves, my beloved Indianans—this ain’t my first rodeo).

I’m not suggesting you just pick up from the old homestead and pilgrimage to Mecca with nary a care, just do what you can to take in as much as you can of the splendor that promises to be.

Personally, I’ll mix up my day or two at the track with some live streaming, Trackside, and whatever Versus throws our way—I may just stare at my scale replica of JR’s ‘74 Mclaren and pretend I’m 8 again. Whatever. But rest assured, I won’t be working and I will be fully immersed in everything IZOD IndyCar.

It’s going to be a good one, peeps. Do what you can to be a part of it.

how we met

A journalist, I’m not, just an enthusiast with a point of view. A grown-up kid who struggled to reconcile his fascination with American open-wheel racing against others’ passion for what played out between the lines of the gridiron and ball diamond.
I first walked through the tunnel at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway in 1973 at age 7 and was captivated. The next decade was spent pressed against chain link fence, straining for a closer look when, despite no real marketable skills, I plotted my way onto a startup Indycar team as a neophyte gofer (thanks Joe). Three years and two teams later, it was back to school.
Since those heady days, I’m holding down a cozy cubicle right here in river city, clinging to fences again, whenever the opportunity arises.
The blog? Just a quiet corner to share my take with anyone who will listen. A healthy main course of IndyCar with a palate-cleansing dose of the requisite peripherals.
Glad you’re here. If you like what you see, stop back often, and bring a friend.
—Chris